Can a huge red rock be a sign of a feeling, of love or identity, outstanding as it is on the meandering road to the beautiful Póros Island? A rock is inanimate, isn’t it? I learned that this is not true at all. Our eyes and soul elevate it to life, our eyes identify it as beautiful, and our spirit transforms it into a friend for life. As I have learned passing by the huge red rock – seemingly levitating towards the sweet ever-blue autumn sky – from my friend poet Liana Sakelliou who was wreathed in smiles.
Discovering a place is an adventure in itself, but it’s not only about you being revealed beautiful landscapes – taking shape out of the blue –, the old houses that preserve for centuries and have ingrained the spirit of the people, but first and foremost it’s about the people themselves living there and enlivening everything beyond nature. The human nature. And I was meant to discover Liana’s Póros Island where she spent so much of her childhood and that became part of her. Imparting it to me – together with her husband, Bill Schultz – was the highlight of my trip to Greece this early autumn. Taking a bath some meters away from their house as if the sea belonged to you, relishing in the delicious omelette prepared by Liana with saganaki cheese covered in the the shy autumn rays of the morning sun, being gently surrounded by ripening olive, lemon and pomegranate trees, walking silently, solemnly on the grounds of the Poseidon Temple where thousand of years ago the great orator Demosthenes sought sanctuary while being pursued by King Philip of Macedonia, being revealed to the beautiful secluded Vagionia Beach, seeing Liana talking and laughing for some seconds with her beloved cousin Nikos, having a tea and visiting the home turned art gallery of the gifted and charming painter Ivi Gabrielides, walking on the Clock Tower Hill up to the wild forest towards a mesmerising tiny island near it, admiring the magical crimson bougainvillea flowers matching beauty, getting addicted to the beauty of the oleander trees along the streets, all were acts of initiation in the spirit of the Póros Island that makes it unique.
I took a slow walk – taking time and trying to stop time – on the Clock Tower Hill on Póros Island “covered” by intimately built houses where the white of the houses matched the blue of the sky to create at each corner a naturally born Greek National Flag ornated with the resplendent crimson bougainvillea and complemented by olive trees. And there were revealed to me huuuuge rocks… fenced. As if nature hat to be put on halt by the hand of man and woman. And suddenly I was bestowed with a thought – in that overwhelming silence of beauty – and wrote this poem:
I am the proud owner
of this huuuuge rocks
crammed into one
another
sparkling in the sun of
the saronic gulf
dancing with
the breeze
in grey & violet
gazing incessantly at the
navy blue waters
playing with its shapes
breathing in the wind
I built a solid fence around my
unique rocks
to protect them from
thieves
a safe haven
nobody should touch them
even with a look
a look and they might have their
soul
suddenly
stolen
my stone-garnished garden
my beloved garden
too many people
admire my cuddled up
stones
these terrible people
might steal my landscape
my rocks
my spirit
sisyphus
two thousand years ago
was punished to roll
my huge rocks
merciless relentless
up and down this hill of the
póros island
oh
and how I caress the
huge rocks
with my eyes
with my gait
with my soul
and don’t feel the ancient
pain and sweat
of sisyphus
because from a torture of
bygone times
it turned to my
utmost pleasure
póros island, 25th , 26th, 27th of sep 2024
When I travel, I always seek the genius loci. Here, it was the Póros Island. I am always looking for a place where everything comes together, a place where the essence is revealed. There, huge stones fenced lovingly on the Clock Tower Hill conveying to my memory an ancient myth, the myth of Sisyphus and over there, the sounds of Ancient Greek cherishing Poseidon on the heights of the hill, over there majestic trees with immense tree crowns at Vagionia Beach, irradiating with bright green that seemed surreal bringing about an indelible feeling and then all of a sudden in the same gulf, I heard the mighty and threatening sounds of the wooden ships cutting with their body and oars through the high waves of the sea, advancing menacingly, two thousand years ago, towards the Vagionia Beach. They were meant to capture the gale force words of Demosthenes and kill their sounds forever. I was in rage and felt that democracy can be defeated, but never dies.
What I learned as a precious gift was, is and will be for me the incredible feeling of true, real friendship, the sense of common intellectual aspirations and of intense, deep-rooted community on the beautiful Póros Island in the Saronic Gulf. And the sincere love of being both in the revered solitude of the magical home surrounded by olive, lemon and pomegranate trees of the Sakelliou-Schultz villa, but foremoest relishing in the bosom of a community that still shows its century-old bountiful roots. Having a frozen yoghurt in the heart of the night on the promenade became a sign of belonging.
I can say with my hand on my heart that the friendliest company of Liana Sakelliou and Bill Schultz made me feel not only at home, but part of the beautiful, mythical Póros Island.
